


I Watch Your Back (Because No One Will)

by fledisthatmusic



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Canon Compliant, Events of Iron Man from Rhodey's POV, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fledisthatmusic/pseuds/fledisthatmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhodes has made a lot of bad calls, and his conscience eats at him constantly. But he feels the rightness of this latest decision, the rescue mission dubbed Operation Malibu, down to his bones. He’s risking his career, his reputation, his life, on an arms manufacturing playboy egotist who a lot of people in the world would love to never hear from again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first official fic in the Marvel Fandom! Beta'd by [Kadigan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadigan/), brilliant writing buddy and all-around great friend. 
> 
> Title is modified from Lifehouse's "Simon."

Tony Stark once described James Rhodes as a soldier with a conscience. Rhodes wants to know what other kind of soldier there is. If you've served in any active war zone and don't sometimes lie awake at night wondering which of your calls in the field were the right ones, then you were probably damaged before you ever put on the uniform.  
  
Rhodes has lost a lot of sleep replaying the deaths of his men and his enemies in his brain, has lost interminable hours counting the bullets that left the muzzle of his M16 in slow motion, listening to the final breaths of insurgents whose names he never knew. Sometimes, even in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he sees F-16s go belly-up, spiralling in a stream of black smoke into the desert, the jungle, the ocean. On good nights, he also sees the parachutes pop open just in time.  
  
There have been very few “good nights” these last three months. Rhodes can’t close his eyes without seeing the sprays of sand, feeling the bomb concussions, and hearing the call over his radio: “The Leviathan has been taken. Repeat, the Leviathan is in hostile possession.”  
  
His therapist says it’s PTSD from the attack, but Rhodes calls bullshit on that. He has been in too many firefights, flown through too many miles of occupied airspace, to succumb to one little ambush. No, he knows this heavy liquid disease that’s eating its way into his brain: guilt. Guilt for letting Tony bully him like he always does, for leaving Tony alone with a handful of starstruck E-3s too new for this kind of assignment (who died because they weren’t ready, don’t think Rhodes doesn’t know that, too). Guilt for allowing the terrorists to just pop in and take the world’s most brilliant weapons designer without going over Rhodes’ dead body first.  
  
Rhodes has made a lot of bad calls, and his conscience eats at him constantly. But he feels the _rightness_ of this latest decision, the rescue mission dubbed Operation Malibu, down to his bones. He’s risking his career, his reputation, his life, on an arms manufacturing playboy egotist who a lot of people in the world would love to never hear from again.  
  
But it’s Tony Stark, Rhodes’ best friend, the only guy who gets away with calling him “Rhodey” and who can talk him into the stupidest (and most entertaining) circumstances he knows he’ll never remember. Rhodes owes at least a little of his own current success to Tony, he’s man enough to admit, but he’s also got an ulcer from the genius, too.  
  
Rhodes’ life would be miles easier without Tony around to muck up headlines and drag Rhodes’ name into the less-than-amused attention of his superior officers.  
  
But he knows he can’t abandon Tony. Knows long before he’s in Qatar, boarding the third Chinook bound for an Army Afghan mountain base, that Tony deserves so much more than an empty casket and a huge mocking performance of a funeral. Especially when Rhodes would bet his Bronze Star that the idiot is still out there, fighting his captors and the Middle Eastern heat and alcoholic’s withdrawal.  
  
It’s still a couple of hours before they touch down just east of Bamiyan, so Rhodes has plenty of time to replay the painful conversation he had over dinner two nights ago.  
  
***  
  
Pepper Potts looked horrible.  
  
That may not have been entirely fair. Pepper actually looked phenomenal considering the circumstances. If Rhodes didn’t know her as well as he did, he would never think she was so close to having a breakdown.  
  
But he saw what most people wouldn’t. He saw the slight redness around her eyes, carefully hidden with makeup; he saw the frizzed slivers of hair sticking out of her usually impeccable bun; he saw the jagged edges of her pink nails as she cradled her wine glass with finely trembling hands.  
  
“Thanks for coming out,” she said, and her voice was steady. “I know you leave again on Thursday, and you probably have so much to do before then.”  
  
“I have flunkies for the little stuff,” Rhodes replied easily, trying to keep the conversation light. Not that he thought Pepper couldn’t handle it; she had just obviously been neck deep in stress for three solid months. “Like I would pick hanging out in a windowless bunker over dinner with you.”  
  
It made her smile, but the expression was a ghost of her usual mirth. She didn’t even roll her eyes at his (mostly) token attempt at flirting.  
  
“It’s...things are bad,” she confessed quietly, staring down at her plate. “At Stark Industries. Obadiah is scrambling to keep investors interested, but the stocks have never been this low. With Tony gone, there’s only so much we can do.”  
  
Rhodes shifted, uncomfortable at the implications of SI going under. The company had so many military contracts still open, and without Tony as both a figurehead - no matter how unstable - and a top inventor, the Armed Forces would seriously feel the effects.  
  
“And I don’t give a shit about any of it.”  
  
His head snapped up, meeting Pepper’s hardened look with one of confusion and a little shock. Those words were Tony’s, not Pepper’s. She always took her job seriously, sometimes too seriously in what Rhodes suspected was an attempt to compensate for Tony’s lack of interest.  
  
“I do care about the company,” she amended when she saw her companion’s expression. “But honestly, what’s the point? Tony’s not coming back,” her voice only broke along the edges, barely noticeable,“so as soon the numbers have stabilized, I don’t have a job. I am...I was just his PA.”  
  
“He wouldn’t have made it a day without you,” Rhodes said gently and not untruthfully, sensing imminent danger if Pepper started down this road of self-deprecation. He took a breath to tell her she’d have no problem finding a new placement, considering her skill set and God-like patience, but he was still stuck on her conclusion about Tony.  
  
“You really think he’s dead.” He set down his fork, folded his hands, and looked at her. It wasn’t meant as an accusation, but Rhodes winced a little at the tone of his own voice.  
  
Pepper’s jaw clenched and relaxed before she answered. “I want to believe he’s alive. I pray every day that he’s still alive, James. But it’s been three months, and we’ve heard nothing. No news, no ransom demands, not even...nothing. There’s been nothing.” The redness was deepening around her eyes, and Rhodes realized she was fighting back tears.  
  
Rhodes loved Pepper. It wasn’t romantic, for all that he tried years ago, just a deep-seated respect for her competence, poise, and patience. She was a practical woman above all else. Of course she would come to the conclusion that nearly everyone else had: Tony was dead, either at the hands of terrorists or the merciless elements. In that moment, he wanted to hate her for her lack of faith.  
  
Then she let out a long, shaking breath and reached out to touch the back of his hand. She smiled, and though it wilted around the edges, it was genuine. “But you volunteered to go back. You think he’s still out there.”  
  
“I have to believe he’s alive.”  
  
Her eyes softened, and Rhodes felt his stomach churn in dread. He knew the turn this conversation was about to take.  
  
“It wasn’t your fault, James.”  
  
He cut her off, unwilling to listen to whatever gentle lies she was on the verge of spilling. “Like hell it wasn’t, Pepper. He was _my responsibility_. I should have been there with him, not sulking down the line like he’d grounded me or something.”  
  
“Tony’s the biggest kid at the grown-ups’ table, you know that.”  
  
“And I’m a grown man with a job to do. I let him push me around and now he’s probably being _tortured_ because of it.”  
  
Rhodes regretted that statement the second it left his mouth. He was angry with himself, but that was no excuse for forgetting about Pepper’s pain.  
  
He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. She set down her silverware and pushed back from the table, not rising but clearly on the edge of her chair. A blotchy redness was rising in her cheeks, darker around the eyes, and Rhodes covered his face with one hand.  
  
“Christ, Pepper, I am so sorry.”  
  
It took her a moment to compose herself. Rhodes was always in awe of how she could do that, slip on a mask every bit as convincing as Tony’s public face. She fixed him in a gaze that was usually reserved for her boss’s worst tantrums.  
  
“You’re convinced he’s alive. Just a...what, a prisoner of war?” She waited for his nod before continuing. “Then you damn well better find him. I can handle his death. I can handle the emotional and financial fallout. But I cannot even begin to imagine Tony suffering at the hands of anybody but himself.”  
  
The mask cracked around the edges, but Pepper pressed on, so used to dealing with people who tried to take advantage of her weaknesses.  
  
“You have to find him. Because if he’s dead, that means there’s nothing we can do. But if he’s...he’s just being hurt by people, and we’re still here just going about our lives like nothing is wrong...”  
  
Rhodes reached out and grasped both of her hands before she worked herself up into another bout of crying. “Pepper. I swear I’ll find him. I’ll make this right.”  
  
***  
  
“Sir,” the voice in his ear is reedy, bad reception on Army comm lines, “detecting movement down there.”  
  
Rhodes doesn’t let himself get excited just yet. It’s day four of recon, and so far the only things they’ve found are a camel caravan, two lost insurgents, and a stray injured goat. This quadrant of the desert is technically no-man’s land, and the nearest known village is twenty miles north. The only reason they are bothering to buzz these hills is the clipped message from the boys in the 54th Signal. Something blipped one of their radars an hour ago, something with a flight path, and Rhodes finds himself jumping at anything unusual.  
  
But it’s cramped in the Black Hawk with eight Green Berets in full gear, Rhodes hasn’t slept since they arrived at the Bamiyan base, and it’s hot as fucking hell. He doesn’t quite have it in him today to hope.  
  
“We have a visual,” the pilot reports as they crest the next hill, flying low enough to tear the sand up into wild cyclones.  
  
“Shit,” Bradley, the Sergeant First Class beside him, breathes just loud enough for Rhodes to hear. “Colonel, it’s one guy.”  
  
“Confirm visual,” Rhodes barks at the co-pilot, shifting to see out the sand and grime-encrusted window.  
  
“One subject,” the co-pilot replies. “You want a closer look, Colonel?”  
  
Rhodes does. Because even if this isn’t Tony, isn’t the whole reason they’re on this ill-advised mission, it could be another victim of war. If Rhodes is too late to help his friend, maybe he can at least lend aid to some poor bastard lost in the deadly heat.  
  
It’s hard to see anything in the sheer, unfiltered sunlight, especially out here where sand, sun, and sky seem to fade together in menacing monochrome. The guy on the ground has seen them - it’s nigh impossible to miss three choppers two hundred feet above - and he waves desperately. There’s no mistaking the Hawks for anything other than American aircraft, but still he waves (is he flashing a peace sign?) for their attention. If he’s not a friendly, he’s suicidal.  
  
Despite the soldier’s protests, Rhodes is out of the chopper before it has properly touched down. The others follow close behind, M16s readied, but Rhodes can see the target clearly now.  
  
The guy is on his knees in the sweltering sand, and even filthy, bruised and bloody, sporting three months’ beard growth, Rhodes would never mistake that billion-dollar face for anyone else.  
  
A hand on his shoulder stops Rhodes mid-enthusiastic-stride, and he nearly punches Bradley in the face. Not that clocking even the lowest of ranking Special Forces guys is a smart decision. “What, Sergeant?”  
  
“Colonel,” Bradley says as he nods toward Tony, “look at his chest. Is that a bomb?”  
  
Rhodes looks, sees for the first time the perfect circle of blue light in Tony’s chest, and pauses. It’s a legitimate concern. With a second look, he also sees the pure relief on his best friend’s face. If it were a bomb, and he was sent out here to blow up any potential rescuers, Tony would have let them know by now. Rhodes is also pretty certain that Tony could have defused any mechanical device deposited on him within minutes.  
  
It’s another one of those “deep in his bones” decisions. Rhodes knows he’s right, doesn’t question the instincts that have helped get him this far. He doesn’t know what the glowing disk is, but it’s not immediately dangerous.  
  
Rhodes says no, shakes off Bradley’s hand, and kneels to see Tony, _Tony_ , real and alive right in front of him. He wants to say a hundred thousand things, about how worried they’ve all been, how it’s a miracle Tony survived, about his injuries and what they did to him and who was it -  
  
But that’s not what comes out of his mouth, when he opens it.  
  
“How was the Funvee?”  
  
It’s absurd and inappropriate, but Tony grins and the sight is so familiar that Rhodes kind of wants to cry - not that he’d risk his manly military credentials by doing that in front of all these decorated Snake Eaters. Instead of crying, he wraps Tony up carefully in a hug, mindful of any injuries.  
  
“Next time, you ride with me.”  
  
Tony goes boneless in the embrace, not even really conscious as Rhodes lifts him with surprising ease. He’s too light, lost too much weight in captivity. Rhodes allows two of the soldiers to help manhandle Tony into the Medivac, and Rhodes climbs in without a second’s hesitation. He’s not going to let Tony out of his sight until they’re both back safely on American soil.  
  
Rhodes has lost men in battle. His pilots have gone MIA, been prisoners of war. Hell, some have even been rescued and returned to their families mostly still intact. But none of them ever really came home. Rhodes knows things happen out here that no one can ever understand and can never come to terms with, and those are soldiers who were trained for the worst. This is not the same. Tony Stark is not a soldier.  
  
And none of Rhodes’ men have ever come back with a goddamn Lite Brite embedded in their chest.  
  
Whatever happened out there in the hellish nothingness of mountains and sand, Tony Stark made it back alive, probably through his own sweat and blood (he’d never wait idly for the cavalry rescue). But this Tony Stark, with the gridwork of scars and faintly ominous glow, will not be the same man Rhodes flew here with in the spring.  
  
Better for Rhodes to get that through his head now, while Tony dozes in a haze of drugs, so that when the genius wakes, Rhodes won’t show his disappointment at the loss.  
  
He wonders what Tony will have to say about the rescue mission. He wonders if Tony will make a crack about his conscience this time, now that it’s the reason Tony will get to see California again.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But most of all, Rhodes realizes as he reaches his car, he’s disappointed in himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the amazing and infinitely patient [Kadigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadigan/pseuds/Kadigan).

The reporters have gone rabid. They’re shouting about “Stark legacies” and “future of the company” while Stane tries to cover up Tony’s ill-conceived revelation. Rhodes doesn’t even know how to react; he thinks he and Pepper are probably in shock, standing side-by-side in complete, dumbfounded silence. Neither of them even have the presence of mind to follow Tony out of the conference room.  
  
When Rhodes remembers to breathe, it’s more of a deflation than an exhale. He knew, he _knew_ , Tony would be different after everything he’d been through - barely two hours off the plane at that - but this. This is Chernobyl.  
  
Pepper swears emphatically and grabs Rhodes by the jacket sleeve, hauling him away from the swarm of reporters before they become its next victims. She ducks into an empty conference room and presses her forehead against the closed door. For a moment, Rhodes wonders if she’s going to start banging her head against the wall.  
  
“What the _hell_ was that?” Her tone is surprisingly mild, more exhausted than anything else. Rhodes feels that same exhaustion settling on his shoulders, replacing the elation of Tony’s return.  
  
“I have no idea. He didn’t say a word about this before we touched down.” Rhodes drops into a chair and scrubs his face with one hand. “He didn’t say much, really. Just asked some questions. About you. The company. Some about the rescue missions. But nothing like this.”  
  
Pepper puts her back to the door as if she can brace it against any potentially invading reporters. She begins a rapid-fire tapping on her tablet while she talks. “It’s probably temporary. He hasn’t even been home yet. I can’t even imagine what’s going on his head on a good day, let alone after whatever he went through over there. He just...he needs time. He’ll be fine.”  
  
“Pepper.”  
  
She looks up expectantly.  
  
“Did you see his chest?” Rhodes holds her gaze as he asks. He registers her uncomfortable shift in posture. “He didn’t tell you, either, then.”  
  
“I saw--”  
  
“I don’t know what it’s for, exactly. I just know it’s a mini arc reactor. He told me that much.” The conversation had been hard to follow, between Tony dozing and babbling half in Dari about dying. He’d been sleep deprived, dehydrated, injured, not to mention in shock. He hadn’t started making any real sense until Qatar, when he stormed out of the hospital and demanded to be taken home.  
  
Pepper’s eyes widen. “But that’s not possible.”  
  
“At this point, nothing is impossible. The problem is, that thing is a medical device. I don’t know what happened to him, but he’s a wreck physically and mentally. It’s going to take a long, long time for him to recover.”  
  
Whatever Pepper wants to say is interrupted by a sharp knock on the conference room door. Both of them freeze, unwilling to make official statements to the press and too rattled to actually talk to anyone else. If they’re still enough, maybe their pursuer will go away.  
  
“Ms. Potts, I know you’re in there.”  
  
It’s Obadiah Stane, looming outside the door like a disappointed father. Pepper steps aside so he can enter. He nods in greeting to Rhodes and settles himself on the edge of the polished table, one thigh hiked up as a rest for his elbow. Stane glances conspiratorially between Pepper and Rhodes before finally sighing.  
  
“Well, I’m thrilled he’s home safe. Let’s just start with that.”  
  
Pepper smiles at him. “I don’t know why we’re all surprised he did something shocking. I wasn’t expecting _this_ , but still. It’s Tony. If he doesn’t make our lives miserable, I worry.”  
  
Stane chuckles, and Rhodes watches him silently. He’s had about as much personal contact with Stane as he did with Howard Stark, which considering how long Rhodes and Tony have been friends, is surprisingly not a lot. Rhodes has spent a lot of time around the SI partner, but he still doesn’t feel like he knows much about him. He didn’t know much about Howard, either; he still found quite a bit to dislike.  
  
“I’ll go talk to him in a bit,” Stane says with a tired little shrug. “Give him a minute to collect himself. He’s been through a lot. More than we’ll ever know, I’m sure.” He turns his gaze on Rhodes, and Rhodes no longer feels like he is in the presence of a disapproving parent. Stane’s look is calculating, considering, all business. For a moment, Rhodes remembers what it feels like to stand at attention on his first day in Basic. But Rhodes isn’t eighteen anymore, and Stane is no superior officer.  
  
“He’s going to need more than a minute.” Rhodes stands, smooths the lines from his dress blues. “I’m not advocating this new direction, not even close, but Tony’s mind isn’t in the right place. He’s going to need us to hold him up, make sure he’s doing the right thing.”  
  
Stane stands as well, reaching out to tap a fingernail gently against the medals on Rhodes’ chest. “You’ve been here before, Colonel. You’re the expert, so to speak. Is there anything I need to know before I go talk to Tony? I’ll give him time, don’t worry; I’d just like to know the best way to approach this. I want to hold him up just as much as the both of you.” He glances at Pepper, then returns to Rhodes. “We’re the only family he’s got.”  
  
Rhodes suddenly feels ridiculous for scrutinizing Stane the way he has. Of course the closest person Tony’s had to a father would want nothing more than to protect him. Rhodes relaxes his stance a little, lets the tension slip from his shoulders. What does Stane need to know? Rhodes considers all the training he’s had for dealing with post-traumatic stress, but that’s not the first piece of information to come into his head.  
  
“His chest,” Rhodes begins, tracing a circle on his own chest where the glowing light would be on Tony. “He’s got an arc reactor, a small one, in his chest. He installed it to keep himself alive after the attack. I don’t know any details, not even what it really does. That’s all I could translate from his technobabble.”  
  
“An arc reactor,” Stane repeats. It’s not a question, but Rhodes can hear the doubt in Stane’s voice all the same. “But how could he have--no, it doesn’t matter, does it? All that matters is that he’s home.” He reaches out again, this time to thump Rhodes on the back companionably. “That is important to know. Thank you, Colonel.”  
  
As Stane moves to leave, Pepper falls into step behind him. She spares a glance back at Rhodes, mouths _Call you later_ , and slips out the door after Stane.  
  
The silence after their departure is almost stifling. Rhodes can feel the familiar pressure of a Tony-headache growing between his eyes, as well as a vague sense of dread. Pepper and Stane won’t be the only ones doing damage control for Tony’s new direction; as SI’s liaison with the Air Force, this is more than just a personal problem. General Gabriel will have questions, concerns, and Rhodes isn’t yet sure how to answer them.  
  
Most of all, Rhodes wonders if it was his place to tell Stane about the arc reactor. It was essential for someone to know, someone who had Tony’s best interests at heart. If anyone could be trusted with that information, surely it was Obadiah Stane.  
  
***

Footage of the press conference is playing on the television when Rhodes reports to General Gabriel’s office. His mission debriefing isn’t scheduled until 1400, but Rhodes thinks it might be best to get it over with, considering the circumstances.  
  
Gabriel stands, salutes after Rhodes does, and motions for him to sit in one of the leather chairs across from the massive desk. The silence stretches just long enough for Rhodes to hear Stane’s voice on the TV: “What we should take away from this is...Tony’s back!” The screen goes black as Gabriel touches the remote beside his chair.  
  
“So,” he begins, and his smile is pleasant, “mission accomplished, Colonel. Well done.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Rhodes responds automatically.  
  
“I take he’s in good condition, judging from his appearance on the news.”  
  
Rhodes’ mind offers up an image of the glowing light filtering through Tony’s shirt, but he doesn’t hesitate. “As well as can be expected, sir. He’ll be physically stable in a few weeks.”  
  
The general’s head tilts slightly. “And mentally?”  
  
This time, Rhodes does pause. “He hasn’t been evaluated by the psych team yet, sir.” Not that he has any illusions about Tony’s feelings on seeing a shrink.  
  
“I’m asking for your opinion, Colonel. As someone who’s seen this kind of thing before. And as Stark’s friend.”  
  
Warning bells are going off in the back of Rhodes’ mind. These are not the kinds of questions he’s used to answering in a proper debriefing, and though he and Gabriel have had several off-the-record conversations about Tony, this meeting is supposed to be about a special operation.  
  
“He’s...damaged,” Rhodes supplies finally. “He wasn’t prepared for what he saw, and I’m not even talking about the torture. _In my inexpert opinion_ ,” he stresses that, because he does not want it to show up in any kind of formal report, “I think Tony Stark believes what happened to him in Afghanistan was a wake-up call. It was the first time he’d actually seen what his weapons do, and who they affect. He wasn’t ready for that.”  
  
“He’s a weapons manufacturer,” Gabriel says, the pleasantness beginning to drain from his face. “He’s _our_ weapons manufacturer. He’s the reason we’re able to keep our casualties to a minimum, the reason we continue to be the world’s most powerful nation. What did he think he was making? What did he think we do out there?”  
  
“ _I_ realize all of this, sir. But to be fair, Tony has been living a highly idealized life. It’s going to take some time before he comes to grips with the reality of the situation.”  
  
Gabriel takes a moment to study Rhodes’ face before he continues. “And when he’s had the time to ‘come to grips’ with it?”  
  
Rhodes resists the urge to shift in his chair. He’s not sure what will happen, because Tony is easily the most stubborn human being to ever live, but he knows what Gabriel wants to hear. “I’m confident Tony will do the right thing, sir.”

Unfortunately, men like Gabriel don’t become generals by being obtuse. His eyes narrow dangerously, and just like that, the atmosphere of the room changes. Rhodes feels the suspicion and edge of anger practically sparking in the air between them. He wants to reach up and tug at his collar, to release the sudden heat of anxiety that’s building on his skin.  
  
“The right thing for him to do is to continue his work with the US Armed Forces, Colonel. As liaison with Stark Industries, that falls under your responsibilities as well.” Gabriel leans across his desk. “Do I have to explain to you the full repercussions of losing that position? Because without a contract with Stark, we have no need of an SI liaison.”  
  
So that’s what is going on here. This isn’t a debrief, not really. It’s an informal reprimand. Because as far as the higher-ups in the Air Force are concerned, Tony’s announcement means Rhodes isn’t doing his job. And though he has other duties - training pilots, overseeing flight exercises, just to start - his relationship with SI is the most lucrative. While the military can’t officially punish him for an outside company’s actions, there are plenty of ways for them to show their displeasure with his perceived failure. He’d never make Brig General, that’s a given. He has a feeling his flight hours would all but disappear as well.  
  
Rhodes joined the military to fly jets, not push paper at a cubicle in the Pentagon. He’s too smart for that, too determined, and he’s already fought his way through too much bureaucratic bullshit to give up on his career over one man’s decision.  
  
Gabriel gives Rhodes plenty of time to process everything he hasn’t said before rising. Rhodes stands as well, back ramrod straight.  
  
“Do I make myself clear, Colonel?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Rhodes is proud of how level his voice sounds. The resentment that’s bubbling up in the back of his throat cannot slip out, or he’s out of luck entirely.  
  
“Good. Fill out your report, turn it in by 1200 tomorrow. Dismissed.”  
  
“Sir.” Rhodes salutes, waits for Gabriel to respond, then turns on his heel and gets out of there before his excellent patience breaks like twine.  
  
He doesn’t stop his march out to the parking lot, but he registers that the administrative office staff is actively avoiding his line of sight. Airmen in dress blues move quickly out of the walkways, and civilian assistants duck their heads as he passes. Rhodes knows he’s moving in a staticky cloud of his own restrained fury. He just doesn’t care.  
  
The worst part is that he’s not sure who the main target of his anger should be. He’s absolutely pissed about Gabriel’s power play, the all-but-blackmail that his commanding officer just slapped across Rhodes’ face. Not only that, but Gabriel seems to disregard the fact that Tony Stark is a human being, so much more than just the machines made by his own hands  
  
Even so, there is a small part of Rhodes that is angry with Tony. He made a decision that would impact hundreds of people and made no effort to discuss it with anyone. Not that discussion has ever been Tony’s forte, but it is ultimately that decision that’s put Rhodes in this position.  
  
But most of all, Rhodes realizes as he reaches his car, he’s disappointed in himself. He’s disappointed that he’s a goddamn lieutenant colonel in the United States Air Force, a decorated fighter pilot, and best friend of the world’s foremost weapons dealer, and he’s still letting himself be bullied by people who consider him in some way less. He’s killed men in the heat of battle, but he’s also somehow _still_ the scrawny little black kid surrounded by entitled football players in gym.  
  
He rests his elbows on the top of his car for a moment to collect himself, to think about his next move. He’s not going to buckle under Gabriel’s threats; he refuses. And he’s also not about to confront Tony, still with fresh wounds, about decisions made under duress. Rhodes is a much better friend than that.  
  
A better friend, Rhodes thinks, would call up his buddy he hasn’t seen in three months and make sure he’s okay. So he squares his shoulders, shakes off the last of his frustration, and hits the speed dial. Five rings and Tony’s recorded voice:  
  
 _“Hey, you’ve reached, well, me. Or at least my voicemail, because I’m not here. Or not taking calls. So do your thing and maybe Jarvis will remind me to call you back.”_  
  
Rhodes sighs and waits for the tone. His messages are always brief because, more likely than not, Tony won’t ever hear them. “Tony, it’s Rhodey. Give me a call back when you’ve got your head out of the Bugatti’s guts.”  
  
He checks the time before slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s been cleared for eight flight hours this week, and there’s nothing like blowing off steam at Mach 2 over unoccupied training grounds. He’ll deal with Gabriel and Tony and everything else when he lands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s like Tony has put up the genius-level equivalent of a “No Rhodeys Allowed” sign on his clubhouse door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry for the wait time on this (admittedly short) chapter. The rest of this fic should not take that long. As always, [Kadigan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadigan/pseuds/Kadigan) is a saint and this fic would have died a long time ago without her. All of my love, dear.

Friday morning finds Rhodes standing on Tony’s front porch, keying in his access code for entry. Tony hasn’t returned his call (or text or email) all week, and Rhodes is starting to worry in earnest. He said he’d give Tony time to right himself, but Rhodes also knows the patented Stark methods for coping. Or not coping, as it were. He just wants to know Tony is still here and not half-drowned at the bottom of some bottle.

The front door opens for Rhodes and he can’t help but smile when Jarvis greets him.

“Good morning, Colonel Rhodes.”

“Good morning, Jarvis,” Rhodes answers. He’d deny it if anybody ever asked, but he’s almost positive that Jarvis sounds happier now than he did when Tony disappeared. AIs aren’t supposed to have feelings, but if anybody could program that kind of code, it’s Tony Stark. “Tony home?”

“Mr. Stark is downstairs in his workshop. How can I be of assistance to you?”

Rhodes makes his way toward the stairs. “I’m just gonna go talk to him real quick.”

“My apologies, Colonel,” Jarvis begins slowly, “but Mr. Stark has asked not to be disturbed.”

At first, Rhodes doesn’t think about that. Two people are always on Tony’s “exceptions” list: him and Pepper. He hits the bottom of the stairs and peers inside the floor-to-ceiling glass doors to the workshop. Tony is nowhere in sight, but the shop is huge; he’s probably got a specific project going in another area of the basement. Rhodes taps in his access code and blinks in confusion when the keypad flashes red.

“Uh, Jarvis?” He glances around, as always at a loss of where to look when talking to the AI. “Why can’t I get in?”

“As I said,” Jarvis answers, “Mr. Stark does not wish to be disturbed. He has revoked several access codes for his workshop, yours included.”

The word “revoked” bounces around in Rhodes’ head for a minute before he can actually grasp what Jarvis means. Rhodes has been banned from the workshop, but oddly enough, not from the house. It’s like Tony has put up the genius-level equivalent of a “No Rhodeys Allowed” sign on his clubhouse door.

So that’s how Tony wants to treat him. The man who saved his ass from heat stroke and dehydration and possible recapture in the middle of fucking nowhere. The man who never once gave up when everyone else had written him off as a lost cause - perhaps for far longer than just his time in Afghanistan. One of the three people who actually give a damn about Tony Stark, not just Stark Industries. Rhodes is man enough to admit that hurts.

For a moment, he considers banging on the glass and making demands. But years of billionaire-wrangling tells him that will be the opposite of effective, and the spike of anger fades to quiet frustration. Tony has his issues to sort out, trauma to deal with, and though Rhodes only wants to help, he can’t pretend like everything is the same.

“Okay, Jarvis, you win.” He turns and starts up the stairs. “Just let Tony know I was here. And that I’m worried about him.”

“Of course, Colonel.”

***

When Rhodes returns to Tony’s house a few days later - with still no word from Tony - he finds a scene he is not prepared to handle.

Pepper’s standing at Tony’s kitchen sink, scrubbing her hands like a surgeon late to the operating table. The hair at the nape of her neck, beneath her sagging bun, is dark with sweat, and her shoulders shake with her half-sobs. Rhodes is halfway into the room before he sees the little glowing light at her elbow, and though it’s a curiosity, he isn’t as concerned with that as he is with Pepper’s imminent breakdown.

“Pepper? What happened?”

She whirls, eyes showing too much white, and slings water across the floor. “James! Jesus, you nearly gave me - _ugh_ \- you scared me!”

Rhodes raises both hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?”

She rests still-dripping hands against the granite countertop and takes long, shuddering breaths. Finally, she sags back against the sink. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just think I need to establish some new boundaries as Tony’s PA.”

“What do you mean?” Rhodes’ mind has supplied entirely too many scenarios that would make Pepper say something like that, and he doesn’t like any of them. He snatches a nearby hand towel from the counter and offers it to her, letting his hand drift up to her elbow when she accepts the towel. “What did he do?”

“Oh, no,” Pepper dries her hands idly and tosses the towel aside. Her hands reach out for the strange glowing device on the counter, cupping it as if it’s a baby bird, and she brings it up so the light illuminates her face. “It’s not what _he_ did. It’s what _I_ almost did. Which, really, he shouldn’t have asked me to take this ridiculous thing out in the first place, but --”

Understanding hits Rhodes so suddenly he feels his stomach drop into his knees. “Is that the _arc reactor_? From _Tony’s chest_?”

Pepper nods, but is blessedly quick with an explanation. “He has a new one. He made me replace this one, and it was... not something I ever want to do again.” Rhodes watches as Pepper physically shakes herself and then resumes her usual poise like a wave from her head to her heels. “But he’s okay. Back to work as usual, I guess.”

Rhodes reaches out to touch the arc reactor, but pulls up short of making contact. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought. Does it really go that deep into his chest?”

“There’s a hole like this,” Pepper indicates a place on her arm that suggests a frightening depth, “that I had my hand in.” Her voice cracks a little at that, but she continues. “It’s a lot worse than we originally thought, James.”

He rubs a hand over his face, trying to process the implications of having a hole that size _in your body_. He was never very good at biology, but he knows that there are some pretty vital organs, bones, and muscles that can’t just be ignored in favor of a big chunk of metal. What the hell happened in that cave?

“And,” Rhodes has to collect himself to realize Pepper is still talking, “when I took it out, he... he went into cardiac arrest.”

“He _what_?”

“I know, I know. Why do you think I’m such a mess? But he’s okay. I don’t know how, but he’s downstairs working right now like nothing was ever wrong.”

Rhodes shakes his head. “He needs a doctor, Pepper. There is no way he’s okay.”

Pepper laughs, and the sound makes Rhodes flinch. It’s a sharp, almost broken-glass sound that he has never in ten years heard Pepper make. “God, you think I don’t know that? What do you want me to do, James, break down the door and bodily drag him to the hospital? He’s been forced into too much. I’m not going to be another person demanding something from him.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Pepper’s clenched jaw and hard eyes daring him to argue with her. Pepper has always been Tony’s conscience, his guiding light, but Rhodes is beginning to realize that even though he may have rescued Tony from the desert, Pepper is the one who will keep him from going completely to hell.

Dealing with Tony Stark has never been a one-man job, after all.

“You’re right,” Rhodes says finally, his voice soft. “Of course you’re right. I’m sorry, Pepper.”

The defiance goes out of her like water through a funnel, and she sighs. “It’s fine. It’s just difficult for all of us, when he’s trying to act like there’s nothing wrong. And I’m standing here holding this damn thing.” She hefts the arc reactor in one delicate hand.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“He told me to destroy it.” Her lips purse, and she glances up from the light to look at Rhodes. “Can you imagine? This thing was his beating heart for months, and he just throws it away like a burnt out bulb.”

Rhodes’ eyebrows pinch together. “He’s not exactly nostalgic. Especially when it’s just going to remind him of something I’m sure he’d rather forget.”

“Then it just needs to represent something else, doesn’t it?” Her little smile is conspiratorial, and it makes Rhodes grin.

“Come on, you can tell me on the way. I did come all the way out here to pick you up for lunch, remember?”


End file.
